


Loki's Christmas Presence

by LateStarter58



Series: Sarah's Smutty Notebook [9]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas Smut, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 14:17:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16976154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LateStarter58/pseuds/LateStarter58
Summary: 'Twas the night before Christmas, when all thro' the houseNot a creature was stirring, not even a mouse...Just imagine what a god can achieve in a single, magical night!





	Loki's Christmas Presence

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Irresistible Force](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16951686) by [LateStarter58](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LateStarter58/pseuds/LateStarter58). 



> Four smutty Christmas stories, with the final part being a return to the OFC of Through the Eyes of a God and The Irresistible Force.

_**Part One: Mother’s Little Helper** _

 

“Oh, _for fuck’s sake!”_

Tina was elbow-deep in the sink as an unmistakable rumble filled the air. He was passed out on the sofa, full to the brim with Christmas cheer (or more precisely, egg-nog, beer and Argentinian Merlot) and there she was, in the next room, washing the dishes on her own. She glanced over at the carefully filled plate on the worktop, just by the outside door: a mince pie, a slice of stollen (Emily’s insistence - _“He’ll be hungry, Mummy, he’s so busy!”_ ) and of course, carrots for Rudolph… Brett usually ate the sweet things and bit into the veg for that extra note of authenticity, but it seemed that Santa-duty was falling to her tonight.

On top of everything else.

She sighed. An uneasy quiet surrounded her, contra-basso snoring aside. She felt so terribly lonely tonight. This was the season of jollity and of family, but hers was slowly, inexorably breaking apart. Being literally alone in the kitchen as she was, the only person in the house still awake, simply made it starker. She had done it all of course, like most years. All the shopping, the decorating, the cooking, _the thinking._ For all of their marriage she had not complained, just got on with all the preparations, accepting that he was occupied at work, that she was more available and anyway, he hated Christmas. It had always grated a bit, the lack of any meaningful support, and as things had changed and her job took up more of her time, and his less, there had been no adjustment of duties, no compensating increase in his domestic involvement. And thus she had begun to push back and their relationship was cracking under the strain.

When the children were there she could maintain the veneer of normality for their sake, but even so they had begun to ask difficult questions. More than likely, this would be the last time they would all be living in the same house at this time of year. That was why Brett had drunk himself into oblivion. She dare not do the same; one of them needed to be responsible. _Her_ , of course.

A sudden movement outside caught her eye. All she could see from the window was a small part of the lawn beyond the patio, now brightly lit by the security light. Something had set it off. A flash of reddish-brown appeared: a fox, slinking, eyes flashing and coat glowing. Tina smiled. People complained about these urban scavengers, but she liked to see a bit of nature in the city. Was it the same one she had seen before, she wondered? Often at dusk or later she would glimpse a flame of red fur that would cheer her aching soul. But tonight instead of dashing away he paused. She watched, keeping still herself, puzzled by the way he seemed to be staring back at her. Then he sat like a dog, settling on his haunches at the edge of the grass, tail whipping like a cat’s.

“Well, _hello_ , Fantastic Mr Fox.”

She chuckled, dried her hands and looked around quickly for her phone, to take a picture. Unable to locate it, she turned her gaze back outside to see the animal was gone. Her heart sank a little.

“Oh, _bugger_! I was hoping for some company…”

_“And that you have, my dear.”_

The voice was dark, sexy, and very close to her ear. Tina took in a breath sharply, but a cool, elegant hand covered her mouth before she could expel it in a scream.

_“Shhhh, Tina, shhhh. You are quite safe. I am here simply to grant your Christmas, um…, desires.”_

Tina’s head was whirring with a thousand fears: the children, just above their heads; her husband (soon to be ex in all likelihood, but she wished him no harm); herself, being held tight by this intruder of undetermined intent. She tried to calm her mind enough to think through her options. _The knife block’s out of reach…_ But before she was able to form coherent thoughts a chocolaty sound filled her ears.

_“You and your family are perfectly safe, Tina. I mean no harm to any of you. I am here solely to please you, at your own request.”_

The hand over her mouth loosened a little.

“What...who... _what do you mean, request?_ I have no idea- _”_

She tried to turn her head to look at the man and found she could. As she did, her voice died in her throat. He was utterly beautiful. Long, raven-black hair reached his shoulders, around a pale, elven face. He was dressed oddly, in a leather coat of green and black, trimmed with red fur. Was he...had he been... _what the…?_

“Who are you?”

The grin widened and he chuckled darkly. _“I think you know, my dear.”_

As he spoke, she did. He _was_ the fox she had seen; he was the shape-shifter of legend, the villain of New York, the mythical, _real_ , _alien-god_ , whatever he was: _LOKI_. She should have been afraid. A stranger in her house, an alien, a madman, by all accounts. But she wasn’t. She was intrigued, puzzled… _aroused_.

“But what do you mean? I haven’t...I didn't…”

The rich rumble of his soft laugh thrilled through her body, melting it deep inside.

_“But you did, Tina. You dreamed of passion, of wild, uncomplicated sex, did you not? You long for a man to appreciate you as a woman, not just as a servant…”_ He glanced at the door. _“You are wasted on a mortal who does not see you for the sensual, beautiful creature you are.”_

_How could he...? Well, he was right._ “Not for much longer.”

_“Indeed not.”_

A cool hand cupped her chin and she watched, transfixed as Loki brought his lips to hers. Whatever remaining molecules of fear there were evaporated as she gave herself up to the kiss. His mouth was cool, fresh, and tasted of herbs and mysterious northern wilderness. His tongue, in contrast, was hot. Unconsciously, Tina moved her hands inside his outer clothes, feeling the firm flesh beneath the moleskin, the muscles rippling with power as he adjusted his stance to pull her closer into him. His coldness was palpable, even through the finely tailored garments. But she was hot, and getting hotter as his lips and tongue moved against hers, making her hungry for more. He was tall and lean, towering over her. But there was no awkwardness as she endeavoured to gain as much contact as possible, searching for friction, wantonly rubbing herself against his hard body, moaning loudly. She stopped abruptly, suddenly remembering the proximity of her family.

_“No need to concern yourself, my dear. They cannot hear us. They are all sleeping deeply and peacefully.”_

Horror and not a little anger surged through her. “What have you done to my children?”

_“I told you, I mean no harm, and I have done none.”_ His eyebrow raised sardonically. _“I have simply ensured we have our, um, privacy.”_

There was a whoosh of warm air, and when she looked around, they were in her bedroom, but it was altered. The lights were low, and seemed to be glowing with a strange green hue. The bed shimmered, gold-green and silky, nothing like its usual dark pink poly-cotton suburban ordinariness. The air was balmy, and scented with green things: grass, herbs, pine trees; like Loki’s mouth. Reaching for him, she realised he was naked beside her, and looking down, so was she.

“How the _fuc-?_ ”

_“I believe it is customary, under these circumstances, to disrobe. Not to mention, it will make it easier to achieve our ultimate aim, my dear.”_

The wicked smile, the lust-darkened eyes… Tina gave in to it all. Confusion and fear had evaporated magically, and now she felt only a deep desire for the body in front of her. Sex was a long-forgotten pleasure, something that had drifted out of her life. But here was the most attractive, most alluring, dangerously enticing creature she had ever encountered and she had no choice but to yield to her needs.

He was cool under her fingertips as they stroked his smooth pale skin, but that strangeness did not concern her. What could make the situation more unbelievable? She was in her own home, _on her own bed_ , with Loki, God of Mischief, the infamously murderous maniac; her husband drunk on the sofa downstairs, her children asleep and dreaming of Santa in their rooms along the landing. How much weirder and unlikely could things get? That was the last coherent thought she had for a while, because two things happened simultaneously then: Loki’s mouth settled on the sweet spot behind her ear, and she glanced down his body and saw his regal cock.

“Jesus H… Fuck!”

_“That is the plan, my dear,”_ his cheerful voice rumbled against her skin. _“And you will experience that, soon enough.”_

“But...oh!”

Two long, cool fingers had slid over her hip and reached her sex, making her gasp as they teased her swollen clit. Tina’s hips jerked at the fleeting touch, and he laughed darkly as the same fingers dipped into the wetness and spread it around her vulva, eliciting a groan from her as she writhed on the dark green bedclothes. His mouth closed over a nipple and she grabbed a handful of his black hair, which was as smooth and shiny as the linen beneath them. A hot tongue explored the shape and texture of her hardening flesh, and sharp teeth took tiny nips as her moaning built to a crescendo.

Suddenly, so fast she had not seen it happen, he had moved down, and he was hovering over her mound. The wicked smile was back on his face, and a tingle of icy fear ran down her spine. But as it reached the base it transformed into a boiling, raging lust which made her entire body flex towards his mouth. He gave a breathy laugh and lowered himself, making her scream with pleasure as his legendary silver tongue made contact with her aching sex.

She lost count of the orgasms. She became hoarse from screaming; she crushed his head between her thighs, then she tried to pull him away as the pleasure became unendurable, but still he worked on her, sucking and nibbling, thrumming her nub at impossible speeds, fucking her with the velvety wet softness of his tongue. When the room had started to fade from her vision, he relented at last, gliding up her body and kissing her deeply on the mouth so she could taste herself.

_“Now, my dear, the time has come. I fear that no man will measure up, in, um, any meaningful way.”_

That dark chuckle again, this time breathed into her hair as he arranged himself between her quivering thighs.

It was unexpectedly hot, like his tongue, in contrast with his skin. And hard. And smooth. And huge. He slid into her, slowly and inexorably, and it went on and on and Tina felt the world drift away as everything dwindled down to her body and how it was being filled with his. She forgot her life and all the disappointments and worries. The anxieties about the next day and the future and how it was all going to be floated away as she felt only the power of Loki and the sublime pleasure he was giving her. She held onto the cold marble of his shoulders as he began to move inside her and she could do nothing but feel.

It was good, so very good. There was no guilt. There was no sadness. There was only this. There was only him: his beauty, his strength, his magic.

It was dark when she woke. Her alarm clock told her it was still Christmas Eve, and the sound of Brett’s snores from below reassured her she was at home.

_Did I dream it all? The fevered fantasy of a frustrated housewife?_

Her hand sought him, but he was gone. A deep sadness threatened, then her fingers touched it: soft red fur. A scarf, with a shiny red ribbon tied around it.

 

_**Part Two: Who Cares for the Carers?** _

 

_I wish they’d just…_

The metro car was almost full, packed with happy, mostly drunk people. Some were in festive costumes, many were in their best clothes, and all of them were in celebratory mood. Or if not, at least faking it. All except for Karine. For her, the day was not special, not for any positive reasons anyway, and she was not feeling even a tiny bit joyous. She did not look at her fellow passengers, and made sure not to meet anybody’s eye, because she wished to remain in her private bubble of sadness. To get home, go to bed and forget the horrors of the day.

Christmas celebrations were furthest from her mind.

So, she sat, a neat, petite woman, short black hair just beginning to grey at the temples. Alone on the fold-down seat by the doors, staring straight ahead and not really seeing. The couple in front of her - the man holding onto the floor-to-ceiling pole, the girl clinging onto him - were snogging passionately, seemingly unaware of the audience around them. Karine tuned them out. Not entirely willingly, but thoughts of her shift, of what she had seen and heard and felt crowded out all other images, even what was right there, right now. Including the very tall, darkly handsome man in the charcoal hoodie who was watching her from the end of the carriage.

_Nobody should have to die like that. Nobody should have to LIVE like that._

A raucous sound filled the air as a new group boarded. They were singing, tinsel garlands around their necks, bags of gifts on their arms. Karine sighed, pulled her bag a little tighter against her chest and shuffled uncomfortably on her seat. Concealed under her coat was her only concession to the time of year: a little seasonal badge next to her name-tag, the usual going-through-the-motions gesture they all indulged in at the _hôpital_. There was a time when she was a willing participant, merrily singing the Christmas songs, cheerily greeting colleagues and friends, her patients and their families. But not today.

Not this particular Christmas Eve.

The man had come in the week before, for a routine procedure. More than enough time for a recovery before the _fêtes fin d’année._ He had seemed indifferent to that, however. He was a _charpentier,_ an artisan, skilled and hard-working. Younger than most of the patients on the ward, only in his late forties, he was quiet, polite, and pleasantly grateful for all the _infermières_ and therapistsdid for him. Then, the evening after his operation, he woke after the anaesthetic. The ward was peaceful and she was the only person nearby; he had opened his heart to her.

He was alone; completely, terribly alone in the world. He had lost touch with his family, he had few friends, none of them close, and he was very depressed. He spoke of his sons, whom, he said, had turned their backs on him; of his ex-wife, who had poisoned their minds against him; of his sisters who did not seem to care; of his late mother who had died a few months before. Karine held his hand and listened, offered a few kind words but could not give him what he really needed: someone who loved him.

She had wept in the changing room at the end of that shift. She did not know, she had not asked him how he had come to this isolation, for fear of hearing a too-familiar story. She feared her own life would go the same way. She was only a year or two younger than her patient, and also without _proches._ A handful of friends, but none she could call _intime._

In the metro train, a cold tingle passed down her back as a man brushed past her. He was moving through the car; tall, lean, with long glossy black hair that shimmered in the harsh lighting of the carriage. She had caught a hint of fragrance as he passed close by: fresh herbs and green grass. Strangely evocative, it filled her with impressions of winter. She shivered momentarily then returned to her miserable remembrances.

And then the man had become ill. His perfectly normal and uneventful surgery had somehow led to an infection in his wound, which rapidly worsened despite the best drugs and nursing. Soon he was delirious with sepsis as it raged through his bloodstream, and it seemed nothing would work. He fought his carers, pulled out all tubes, had to be held tight and finally sedated purely to prevent him from hurting himself and the staff.

“I think he wants to die,” the doctor had told her the day before.

“You might be right.” had been Karine’s reply. “He has little to live for.”

Just two hours before she had boarded the train it had ended. She had been there with him and held his hand. She tried to comfort herself with the thought that her voice had been the last thing he heard, and that she had been speaking kindly to him. But that did little to soothe her troubled heart.

Something made her look up sharply, and her eyes met those of the mysterious man in the hoodie. The one whose fresh green scent had stirred something inside her. He was standing a few feet away and smiling, a hint of mischief in the bright gaze that locked with hers. She felt the corners of her own mouth turning up as the infectious glee of his expression caught hold of her.

_He is very good-looking. You might almost say, beautiful_

The man’s grin broadened and Karine pulled her eyes away, feeling a blush rush up her body and wash over her face. The connection broken, her blue mood returned as instantly as it had left. This was a _noël_ to forget. The driverless train whooshed off up the track as she made her weary way up the stairs in the station, heading for her empty, dark, lonely flat.

_“Karine, you should not be alone on this night, of all nights.”_

She froze in mid-action, her hand on the code-pad. The deep voice, its French accentless and impeccable, had come, seemingly from nowhere. She felt his presence now, however, and without turning her head she knew it was the man from the metro train. He must have followed her.

_But how does he know my name?_

_“There is much which will seem mysterious, you might even say, um, magical to you this evening, my dear. But rest assured, you are completely safe.”_

Karine was no trembling virgin, nor was she naive. Years of shiftwork had meant travelling at unsocial times, and she was pretty streetwise. There was something dangerous about this man, but she was not afraid. Not, at least, in the way she might have expected to be when suddenly accosted in the dark, alone on the street. She looked around her. Christmas lights glittered in every window of the _résidence._ Within _,_ families and friends were gathered for the celebrations. Outside, the communal decorations adorned the streetlamps and someone had put up a small tree at the edge of the _pelouse._ But between her and the world there was a shimmering curtain of light. And within it, very close behind her, stood the man.

“Loki…” she whispered.

A breathy chuckle made her shiver, this time not with cold but with the anticipation of pleasure.

_“Guilty as charged, Nurse Picard.”_

“What do you want?”

_“Oh I think you know, my dear.”_

Karine turned her head and saw his lovely face, green eyes fixed on her and a half-smirk on his lips.

_“I want what you are thinking, right now.”_

The next day, when she tried to recall precisely what had occurred, this was the blurriest part. Had they gone through the door? Did they use the lift or the stairs? Had she or Loki unlocked her apartment? All she knew for sure was that very rapidly they were standing facing one another in the middle of her _salon,_ and Loki’s large, cool hand was stroking her cheek gently. Karine was mining her recollections: what did she know about him? _How did I know it was him?_

“You’re… you tried to… aren’t you in prison?”

He stepped back a stride and spread his arms.

_“Apparently not.”_

Karine looked him up and down. He was wearing well-worn black jeans with black leather boots, a dark grey hoodie and a grey-marl t-shirt. The unusual hair aside, he looked pretty normal, if rather pale. And human. Except that he didn’t. Everything about him conveyed regality: his stance, very upright; his height, much greater than the average _Breton_ at getting on for two metres; his blinding beauty; the aura that surrounded him. He was extraordinary.

_“Well, my dear, I am a god, after all.”_

There was something else exceptional about him, something that was making itself obvious in his jeans. Karine’s glance was drawn to it and as she looked he laughed again.

_“In every way, my dear.”_

Suddenly, the trickle of desire she had been feeling became a tsunami. But still she held herself back, the grief of her experience that day still dampening all other emotions, however intense. As she watched his face, Loki’s expression softened and he stepped closer again, one hand gently caressing her arm.

_“Let me ease your sadness, chérie. Allow me to take you away from it, for a short while.”_

Karine began to shake her head, but something in his eyes stopped her. Everyone on the planet was familiar with the blurry images from Stuttgart and New York of the madman in the horned helmet. Most had heard the garbled testimonies of eyewitnesses to his attack on that German scientist, or how he strutted around on the balcony at Stark Tower…  None of that chimed with what she saw before her. He was coldly beautiful, true, but there seemed to be real compassion in his face.

“I...I don’t know if you can, I mean-”

_“Let me try, at least, Karine.”_

He leaned forward and kissed her cheek, his lips cool on her skin. A shudder of desire ran through her and she surrendered to it, reaching for his neck and pulling him to her mouth. His tongue was hot, and it found hers, teased and danced inside her lips, making her arch herself against his body and the growing bulge in his jeans. Loki’s hands held her firmly, pressing her flesh with just enough force to ratchet up her need.  Karine heard a noise and wondered at it before recognising it was her own moans of lust. As she did, Loki laughed darkly and waved a hand.

All the sensations were amplified a thousandfold and she realised they had somehow been transported to her bed, and that their clothing had gone. Gasping, she looked around to see a shimmering golden-green light filling the room. It made Loki’s pale perfection look even more dream-like. He lay beside her, the firm planes of his chest and abdomen unmarked save for a line of black hair that led the eye to the largest penis she had ever seen. She gaped and heard a breathy chuckle.

_“I fear that no man will measure up, my dear, after me.”_

“Well, there isn't exactly a queue anyway.”

He craned his long neck a little to kiss the tip of her nose softly.

_“_ _Il doit y avoir une épidemie de cécité, ou de stupidité, chez les Français!”*_

She began to protest, but he stopped that with a deep, passionate kiss. Karine had never known such tenderness, such gentle ardour. That she should be sharing it with someone - _something? -_ known only for his brutality and evil seemed incomprehensible. So she gave up attempting to understand what was happening and allowed it to carry her away. Away from the sadness that had haunted her for days. Away from the loneliness which had darkened her life for years. Away from the empty flat, the quiet, the silence of her off-duty existence to a world of sensual delight.

Loki was the god, but she was the one who was worshipped.

His large hands, his elegant fingers stroked her breasts and teased the skin on her belly. His lips kissed a path from her hot, wet mouth downwards, past the soft swell of her bosom to the roundness of her abdomen and onwards. She moaned her pleasure as he found every place that pleased her, used his magic to guide him, feeling what she felt and amplifying it where he could. She forgot her pain, she forgot the pale eyes of her patient, staring, unseeing at the ceiling as she felt him slip away. She was able to lose herself in what Loki was making her feel, right there in that moment, and nothing else was important.

When the heat of his tongue met her clitoris, she called his name and he grinned with satisfaction. Her head was full only with him, as he wanted. And as he used all his skill to bring her to orgasm, she was transported and he sensed only joy in her thoughts. He rose up her body and entered her, swiftly, and as he did she thought she saw a need in him too.

“Loki..? Oh-”

He filled her. She had never known any feeling like it. And it was hot, unlike the skin of his pelvis where it touched hers. The scientist in her mulled that riddle briefly, before he began to move inside her and all rational thought departed. He grazed her g-spot with every motion of his hips, making the swirl of pleasure build into a maelstrom again, rising, growing, deepening until she came apart again, more intensely than before because it was around him. He kissed her mouth and she felt him moan with his own lust as she tightened around his hardness.

“Please, Loki, more…”

Grunting, he lifted her legs up against his chest and began to move inhumanly fast, and the world faded from her consciousness as the pleasure became too intense for her mind to process it. When she became aware again, she was wrapped in his long, alabaster arms, her legs over his as they cuddled under the duvet.

_“How do you feel now, my dear? A little better than you did on the metro, I hope.”_

Karine took stock. She was warm, despite the cool body around and under her; her pelvis tingled with the little aftershocks of her several orgasms still rippling through it every few seconds. Her lips felt somewhat swollen from kissing, and her entire body was relaxed and suffused with happiness.

“Yes. Much.” She looked into his eyes. There was no trace of the wicked glee she had seen on the train, nor of the mischief that had sparkled. There was only a gentle affection. Was this really the villain of New York? How, _why_ had he changed? Was that the ‘real’ Loki, or this kind benevolent lover?

_“Ah, my dear. That is the puzzle, is it not?”_

Karine sat up and looked him squarely in the face.

“And what is the answer?”

He laughed, and seemed about to say something when he hesitated. She saw a flicker of doubt cross his features.

_“I may have to get back to you on that one, Karine.”_ He smiled and pulled her close for a kiss. _“Joyeux noël, ma chérie.”_

  
_*(_ _“Then there must be an outbreak of blindness, or stupidity, among Frenchmen”)_

 

_**Part Three: The Company of Wolves** _

 

She drove in black. Utter, total black, the kind you only get in the wilderness. The bright aura of her headlights stopped abruptly a handful of feet ahead of her, and beyond it was nothing but miles of woods and scrub and nothing, all of it covered in a thin coating of snow. At least the road was still clear.

Marg turned up the music and began to sing loudly, trying simultaneously to dispel her anxiety and inject some holiday cheer into her jaded soul, though this time of year had long ago lost its magic for her. Had she loved it when she was a child? Probably, when her parents were still together and she had only to concern herself with writing to Santa and making decorations from paper and glitter. Now it was just the mad rush between Thanksgiving and the end of the year, with every client wanting their project concluded, VPs pressuring her, and her mother constantly calling or emailing with _just one more thing, honey, while you’re in town…_

A movement on the edge of her vision caught her eye, but when she looked there was nothing but snow-dusted branches. _Probably just a deer or something...better slow down. Hit one of those out here on Christmas Eve and you’ll have a helluva long wait for a tow-truck…_ The merest trickle of fear tightened her stomach. She loved driving up to her mother’s house, way up here in the boondocks _, in the summer_. The trees, the lakes, the quiet… all the things of Maine that Elodie Dupont had known and loved as a child appealed equally to her daughter Marguerite. But tonight, on the empty highway, surrounded by forest that stretched endlessly all the way into Canada, the wilderness had taken on a more sinister feel.

Ahead on the road, two bright eyes shone, silver coins in her headlights. _What is that? A cat? A dog… FUCK, that’s a-_

The grey shape melted away even as Marg hit the brakes so hard the car juddered to a halt. Only Lady Gaga continued singing, apparently unaffected by the sudden encounter with nature.

Her heart began to slow its hammering and she loosened her death-grip on the steering wheel. Cautiously, still spooked and fearful of what she might see, she scanned the edge of the forest. All was still, dark and frosty. She glanced at her own reflection; she was pale, her mouth pulled into a grimace.

“Get a grip, girl.”

She looked at her phone; according to _Google Maps_ she was less than fifteen miles from her destination. Checking her mirrors for the unlikely danger of another vehicle out here (she had not seen more than ten or twelve since she left Bangor almost two hours ago, and none for over an hour), Marg set off again. Glancing in the rear-view as she drove, she saw a flicker of green light which came and went. _Must be the aurora…_

The harsh sound of a ringtone filled the car suddenly, make her jagged nerves leap in alarm. It was her boss. Who was also her… _what was he, actually. Ex? Not really. You can't call what we had a romance._ Memories of fumbles in his office, of sweet words whispered and promises made, only for her to be cold-shouldered in front of the CEO, and everyone else come to that, flickered across her mind. _For fuck’s… It’s nine-fifteen on Christmas Eve, you asshole._ Gritting her teeth, she tapped the screen anyway.

“What can I do for you, Blake?”

No preamble, no greeting. Definitely no tenderness.

“Did you speak to Compton? Is that all put to bed?”

Irritation scraped at her throat. _Can't you read an email, you moron?_

“Yes. I thought I’d emailed you.”

If she’d been in the room with him, she’d have been favouring him with one of her sunniest fake smiles.

“You may have, I just wanted to check. I don't want them calling me about it. I want some peace over the holidays.”

The sounds of merrymaking came through the phone. _He’s at a party, with the CEO, no doubt, since it’s his daughter he’s marrying… and a few drinks down the road to wasted. He hasn’t even bothered to look._ The forest became more hostile as her isolation seemed starker.

“Happy holidays, Blake.”

“Thanks. Bye.”

Fury took hold for a moment and she swore loudly at the silence (once the connection was broken). _Not so much as a ‘You too’! That man…_

There was a bright flash of green light, then a large grey shape in her peripheral vision, loping beside the car. Marg wrenched the wheel to the left, not wanting to collide with the huge animal. Her eyes popped with fear but she endeavoured to keep control of herself, more afraid of crashing in the remote wilderness. _Wolves...well, one wolf, but here? And the size of it!_ Terror tugged at her sleeve as the engine began to falter, then die and she drifted slowly to a halt. She pumped the gas, she tried to restart it, but a heavy silence was falling, broken only by her frantic squeaks.

_“There is no cause for alarm, my dear.”_

Marg screamed. The voice was close, in her ear, dark and sexy, and only a split-second before she had been totally alone.

_“Shhhhh. I mean you no harm, Marguerite.”_

“Who the...what...HOW??!!”

Her head turned slowly on a neck rigid with fear. Her pulse thundered in her ears. She was still gripping the wheel, unable to release her hold on it. In the passenger seat sat a man. His eyes were on her, twinkling with glee. _Those are the same...he’s...it can’t be._

_“Oh yes it can.”_

He laughed breathily. Marg allowed her eyes to flick down, and saw he was dressed in a fur coat of the same beautiful grey as the creature she had glimpsed beside the car. He was tall, and long hair, black as the night, framed his fine-featured face. A smirk was curving his lips upwards at the corners.

She turned her gaze back to the road ahead, and the blacktop that glistened with frost in the beam of her lights. Her mind began struggling to process the events of the previous couple of minutes. A stifled sob of fear broke through her taut lips, but even as it did so it became a giggle. She squeezed her eyes shut, shook her head, then looked again at the being now occupying the passenger seat of her BMW. He returned her look, still with a benevolent grin on his face, and this time her laughter was overt, and verging on the hysterical.

“Loki…” she managed.

The smile widened and he nodded briefly.

_“At your service.”_

“At my… WHAT?”

Loki turned in his seat to face her, bending and tucking one long leg underneath him as he made himself comfortable.

_“It is Yuletide. You are in need of, er...some company, and I heard your plea.”_

Marg stared at him. _Loki? Actual, motherfucking LOKI?_ She thought of the earnest discussions on late-night TV, the _Times_ editorials, the special edition of the _Washington_ _Post…_ In the wake of the events in New York, when this ( _person? Alien… GOD?_ She snorted) creature had, _they were told_ , attempted to take over the Earth by means of an invasion, the East Coast Liberal Elite (of which she was a fully paid-up member) had tried to understand his nature. But with so little to go on, and with the attack on London, then that nasty business in Sokovia, some people had begun to question if the real risk wasn’t actually from their so-called ‘defenders’. After dinner, when a bottle or two plus the occasional brandy had been consumed, she and her friends would often turn to musing about the undeniably attractive ‘bad guy’.

_“I am well aware of your interest in me, Marguerite. And of your situation.”_

“Oh, _COME ON_!”

_“Magic, my dear.”_

Another snort.

_“I realise you are, shall we say, a sceptic, but nonetheless…”_

His long arms spread out to display his undeniable presence. The hysteria inside retreated a little as her intellectual curiosity began to gain the upper hand. Was it an hallucination, or was he real? She looked again, more carefully. The long black hair that everyone recognised from the blurry pictures was there, but longer, she thought. His face was ghostly pale but heart-stoppingly beautiful. The expression of glee was there, but without the madness that had seemed to characterise it, according to the eyewitnesses. His legs were long, and emerged from the rich fur of his coat clad in dark leather.

And he smelled enticing. Fresh, dark green as the forest that surrounded them, but beneath that pine fragrance was a deeper, more animal scent. Like the wolf he had pretended to be. It was the most arousing thing she had ever known. Apart, that is, from the way he was looking at her.

A chocolaty, rumbling growl came from his chest and Marg knew he had read her mind. Proof followed instantly as, with a wave of his hand, the inside of her car was transformed. The space was filled with a soft glittering light, and where the Canberra Beige seats had been now there was a wide bed covered in furs. The steering wheel and dashboard remained, but they were behind a shimmering curtain and seemed a thousand miles off.

_“Does this meet with your approval, my lady?”_

Laughter bubbled in her throat again. _My LADY? Wtf?_ She looked at him archly, barely bothered by the fact that they were now lying side by side on the bed he had somehow conjured up. She nodded her assent and the broad smile returned. Somewhere, at the back of her mind, she wondered at this bizarre situation, but most of her cerebral cortex was concerned with the way Loki’s fingertips were caressing the skin on her neck. Just as she had got a hold on that, they moved, and his long, long leg pressed between hers as he leaned over and kissed her mouth softly.

Marg returned the kiss, ardently. Her hand caught in the raven silk of his hair and pulled, making a soft chuckle echo through her.

_“So greedy. I like that in a woman.”_

Another wave, and the body hovering over her was naked, as was she. The air was balmy, scented with herbs and she had never felt safer. For a fleeting moment she marvelled at this, but then Loki’s mouth closed around one of her erect nipples and that marked the end of her philosophical musing.

_His mouth is hot, his skin is cold, his cock is...OH!_

Surprising herself, Marg slithered down the pelts until she was eye-to-eye, taking a nipping kiss at the tip. Loki gasped and fell a little awkwardly onto his side. She followed, reaching for him and stretching out her tongue for a proper encounter. A loud groan told her that she might have caught the demi-god unawares, but he soon relaxed as she settled to her task.  Large cool hands rested in her red curls as she worked him, relishing the taste, the size, the evident power. After a few minutes he gently pulled away and pressed her onto her back.

_“This is YOUR Christmas gift, my dear, delightful though that was.”_

She found herself unable to move as his hands and mouth moved over her, teasing, biting, kissing and licking in a frenzy that disorientated her in a way all his previous magic had not. Waves of unimagined pleasure rolled over her, she cried and laughed and shouted his name and she came; again and again until she begged for respite. When he relented, she pulled on the hard, marble-white flesh of his arms until he was nestled between her legs.

“Please, Loki.”

_“As you wish, my dear Marguerite.”_

Even as it was happening, she knew that nothing would ever be the same again. No man ( _There are no men like me, isn’t that what he said? No fucking kidding)_ would match up. NONE. EVER.

_Least of all the asshole-in-chief_

In the days, weeks and months that followed, Marg would re-live the next minutes ( _hours? How long was it?_ ) many times. She could not recall every detail of how his body undulated and ground against hers, how his great length and girth filled her, or where his lips and teeth were at each moment. But the exquisitely deep, whole-body pleasure that overwhelmed her was vivid in her memory, and returned whenever her thoughts drifted to that incredible time and place. Afterwards, as she lay in his strong and gentle embrace, she sighed with a contentment she had never known before.

_“Did that meet your requirements, my dear?”_

“Oh my fucking GOD YES!” She laughed at her own joke. “ _FUCKING GOD...geddit?”_

A breathy laugh and the pressure of lips on her scalp. The peace and joy of their tryst was broken by the raucous sound of her phone. Loki lifted his head and reached for it.

_“Ah, Blake. Let me deal with this.”_

“Oh, I don’t-”

_“Blake.”_

“Who is this?”

_“A close friend of Marguerite. You might say, an intimate friend.”_

His wink made Marg giggle loudly, and she barely muffled it.

“I need to speak to her.”

_“Oh I don't think you do, do you?”_

“What? I hardly thi-”

_“Get back to your fiancée, Blake, off you go. And don't get too comfortable where you are…”_

Marg heard a spluttering noise as Loki broke the connection. She tried unsuccessfully to smother the smile on her face.

“That wasn’t very kind.”

_“He does not deserve kindness, my dear. You know that better than any.”_

She shrugged. He was no worse than plenty she had worked with.

_“That may be true, but he will find that his prospective father-in-law will be aware of all of his, um… let us call them ‘shortcomings’, in the new year.”_

“Loki…”

_“Think of the possibilities, my darling. You could be a truly exceptional Vice President.”_

How could any of this be true? Loki settled back down beside her and she stroked the pale rise of his cheekbone. “God Yul, Loki.”

 

_**Part Four: Faithful Friends Who Are Dear to Us** _

 

“Come on, gang!”

I was calling my dogs, who were almost out of sight, but the sound died immediately in the thick fog that was blanketing my corner of France. The village had taken on an alien look, with vague grey shapes replacing the pretty houses and a looming dark presence where the church used to be. It was cold, wet and miserable; so was I. And it made not a jot of difference to know that it was my own choice to be here, all alone with only my furry friends on this gloomy Christmas Eve.

It had been a rational decision: the other options were less than ideal, not to mention expensive. Both my children were working up to or over the break, and neither had space for me to bring the lads. I would have had to leave them in kennels and even then spend stretches of time on my own. No, I had gone for the lesser evil. The family were all coming to visit for New Year and that was something to look forward to. Oddly, that did not raise my spirits one iota.

Then I felt it. I call it my _Lokisense._ A tingling sensation at the back of my neck, like the one you get when you feel you’re being watched. Except mine was very specific to one particular observer. I’d had it on and off for a couple of days, and had been studiously ignoring it (or, to be more honest, refusing to get my hopes up). I looked around, but the thick mist made it impossible to see anything more than twenty feet away. Even the sound of the church bell ringing out the noon reminder to the workers in the fields was muffled by the sheer volume of water hanging in the air. I thought hard, knowing his ability, but still I heard nothing, saw nobody. Sighing, I put it down to wishful thinking and headed home.

On his last visit to me, the fabulous creature, the complicated, capricious, wildly attractive Loki and I had enjoyed (that word is inadequate, really, but all the alternatives feel a bit, well... _lewd_ ), and I liked to believe, he had acknowledged a connection between us. He had been tender, thoughtful and caring. While he was powerful, mysterious and wicked, he had not lived up to the image portrayed of him in the media. He was not at all mad; he was, however, damaged. Why he chose to come to me in the first place remained a puzzle, but if he was coming back again, as I was hoping, then I was not going to complain.

The house was as quiet as normal when my canine companions and I clattered into the kitchen. The dogs skittered off to their beds, I shucked off my boots and padded through the house. I had decorated a little, in anticipation of my visitors next week. There were cards on shelves, the odd reindeer here and there, pretty lights strung in every room and a modernist-minimalist tree in the hall with a few carefully chosen ornaments on it. And it was as I went to hang up my coat, that I saw him: there, standing next to my _John Lewis_ tree, his arms folded across his leather and metal-clad chest and with a Santa hat at a jaunty angle on his fabulous head, was the God of Lies. I decided to play it cool.

“Ah! I thought I felt you. How are you, Loki?”

He cocked his head like one of my dogs.

_“I am well, my dear. But I see you are lonely and a little sad. Shall we see if I can help you with that?”_

I favoured him with one of my long, steady looks. He knew perfectly well that his very presence cheered me, never mind what he… yes, well, more of that in a moment. I couldn’t keep it up for long; he looked so improbable in that hat, and yet so mind-bogglingly alluring. The sideways smirk on his face morphed into a wide grin.

“Oh stop it!” I was doing my best not to laugh. “And take that bloody hat off. You look like you’re in some kind of seasonal porn movie.”

_“Sounds intriguing. Maybe I’ll just…”_

He waved his hand and all his clothing evaporated. Everything _except_ for the red and white hat.

“Oh for the love of-”

_“Too much?”_

I saw his hand twitch again and we were both in front of my fire, a fine blaze warming the room. Somehow, in the transition, Loki had exchanged his Santa hat for a pair of white boxer shorts. He was posing draped on a bed which had appeared in my living room. A single red rose was beside him on the white sheet.

_“Better?”_

The question was, like so many he asked, completely disingenuous. He could read minds, or mine at least, so he had to sense the tidal wave of lust that was rendering me wobbly-kneed and speechless. He could have shown up driving a rusty tractor, in filthy overalls and mud-encrusted wellies (as our local farmer often does at the bar across the street) and I’d have thrown myself at his feet. Looking as he did right then, that is to say, like a male model in an underwear advert, well…

_“Then come over here, my dear, and let me lighten your mood.”_

I’ve had a few good Christmases in my long life. The best were in my own childhood, of course, but the ones when my own kids were small were pretty special too. One particularly memorable year I remember my eldest waking and hearing her say to her little sister, “He’s been!”... But spending Christmas Eve afternoon on a feather bed in front of a blazing fire with Loki takes some beating, I can tell you.

He tasted as beguiling as ever; my natural curiosity pondered the mysteries as usual. Why had he made a bed appear this time, when before we had made do with my existing furniture, whooshing around the house as necessary, as it were? Was the taste an Asgard thing, or particular to Loki? Why was he so cool to the touch when his tongue and his cock were so hot? What was it that made him seek me out, when clearly he could avail himself of the most beautiful women on the planet (or any other planet, come to that)? I heard a familiar grunt of irritation.

_“I am experimenting, my dear, trying, um… new ways of doing things. And I told you before, I am not concerned with outward appearances. You are very beautiful.”_

It was my turn to be derisive.

“Oh come on, Loki. You cannot tell me that this…” I indicated my flabby, sagging, ancient form, “is the best you can do.”

I was rewarded with a deep kiss that made my toes curl and my insides turn to liquid fire.

_“You still don't understand me, or yourself, do you? I see beyond the corporeal, beyond the present, beyond these mere... illusions. I see you.”_

His eyes penetrated me deeper even than his magnificent phallus could. I was helpless. I felt his affection for me, and I surrendered. Not just physically (as if that were ever in any doubt), but to his will to make me believe that the external was unimportant.  

Of course, he immediately undermined his own argument by transporting me to new heights of carnal pleasure. He made me sit on the silky white sheets, knelt before me and rested his cool hands on my waist. I closed my eyes as he took one nipple in his mouth, while one hand moved up to squeeze the other. He was gentle, teasing, slow and deliberate. If I whined in frustration he tutted into my flesh or looked at me reproachfully. Eventually he made his way to where I needed him most and by then I was so desperate I almost screamed when his tongue swirled around my clit.

_“Patience rewarded, my dear.”_

“Oh, shut up and fuck me, Loki, for goodness’ sake.”

_“Why are Midgardian women so impatient, I wonder?”_

I glared at him. I was trying to manoeuvre him between my legs while he play-acted being puzzled or regretful or shocked, I’m not sure which, only that it was fake. His cock was purple with need and when at last he favoured me with it, the look of bliss on his face was a sight. He paused, eyes closed, for a long moment.

“Looks as if I wasn't the only one.”

Irritation tightened his jaw momentarily. I suspected he still resisted the connection there seemed to be between us, one which made me able to read his emotions. Then he decided to shut me up effectively by beginning to fuck me very hard and fast. I could do nothing but enjoy it and hold on. I came. Of course I did. Loki has always brought me basket loads of orgasms. I screamed, I cried, I laughed, I said his name. I kissed and bit the cool hard flesh of his neck and shoulder, I gripped his arms, his back, his magnificent arse. I did my best to join in, but his movements were so rapid, and so powerful that I was just a passenger, really.

When he came, I felt a shift in him, a loosening, as if some great tension had been relieved. Surely he was not short of female company?

_“Oh no, my dear. But few are like you, my lovely Gabrielle.”_

I resisted my knee-jerk response and stroked his beautiful face, still hovering over me.

“Thank you for, er, coming, Loki.”

He grinned and withdrew gently, settling on the soft bed beside me. We lay in silence watching the flames for a while.

“So, is this how you spend Christmas Eve? Going around dispensing good cheer?”

_“I am trying it on for size this year. You are my first stop. What do you think?”_

He laughed, and I followed his gaze down his fabulous body. I did a double-take when my eyes fell on his cock: a miniature version of the Santa hat was adorning the head. I almost fell off the bed.

“Oh, Santa Baby…”

 

**_But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight—_ **

**_Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night_ **


End file.
